Chapter Text
San is frozen. A wave of utter incredulity crashes into a hot flash of pure rage deep in his chest and the internal steam fogs up his vision.
Yunho stays silent, returning his murderous gaze steadily, like he has every right to be there.
Like this isn’t all his fucking fault.
The urge to do something childish and make this smug bastard go away is overwhelming. He could punch him right in that pretty throat, but San prefers all of his limbs attached, so he opts to slam the door in his face instead.
San stares at the back of it, chest heaving like he’s just sprinted half a mile. He plants his hands against the door frame and hangs his head between his shoulders. The only thing to break the oppressive silence in the dim little entry is his laboured breathing.
The fact that there’s not been a single sound on the other side of the thin wood tells him Yunho hasn’t gone anywhere.
Fuck!
If he kicks the flimsy ass front door like he wants to, he’ll put his whole damn foot through it. His hands ball into fists and he forces his breaths out through his nose. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been this angry.
Yes he’d lashed out at Mingi, but that came from a place of hurt. This, this is full blown, unfiltered fury at a man who’s dragged his best friend into a dangerous world that is bound to eat him up sooner or later.
When he no longer feels like he’s going to rip the other man in half on sight, he tears the door back open.
Yunho is still standing there, waiting, expression unreadable. He looks annoyingly composed and so out of place in his designer suit against the flickering blue light and peeling paint of the dingy hallway. Of course this asshole has perfected the ‘yes, bitch, give us nothing’ face.
And maybe San expected him to make a scene or try to twist his arm or at least leave. Fine, so he gets one point for tenacity, but that still leaves him at minus 999.
“What do you want?” San bites out.
Wooyoung pokes his head around the corner at the sound of his voice just as Yunho tilts his head.
“I would like to come in,” he says calmly.
San shoots daggers at the mafioso. The sheer audacity to show up the flat he shares with Mingi and expect to just be let in. The thought that his oldest friend hasn’t been home in weeks tastes so sour San would’ve kicked the door shut again, if not for Wooyoung putting a firm hand on the wood to stop him.
“Yunho-ssi, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he says with a genuine smile. Traitor.
He waves an arm in clear invitation, cutting his eyes over at San in warning. It’s followed by a sharp elbow in his side for good measure, making him stumble away from the door.
Yunho nods his head, obnoxiously elegant and smooth. San huffs and stalks ahead into his tiny flat’s kitchen, banging around the cabinets to make himself a coffee. It takes real willpower to ignore his upbringing and not offer to make one for Yunho when he comes through after taking his shoes off.
It’s odd to have the man whose shitty behaviour and magnetic pull San and Mingi used to discuss at length in the kitchen take a seat at their breakfast bar.
For the first time, Yunho breaks character and looks around curiously. His fingers trace some of the grooves and chips in the battered surface and his eyes glide over their mug collection, on full display ever since the hinge broke on the cabinet door and it fell off. San takes a deep breath, gearing up to chew him out for being a pretentious prick, when he sees a small and fond smile flash across the geondal’s face as he spots the post-it with the little heart Mingi drew weeks ago to let San know he got home safe.
An uncomfortable thought blooms in his mind. Yunho is looking for pieces of Mingi in their home, not for ways to judge their life.
It takes some of the righteous wind out of San’s sails. He still doesn’t trust him for shit, but maybe there are reasons to at least hear him out.
That does not mean he’s going to make this asshole’s life easy in any way. His mouth tightens as he sucks his teeth and he watches in satisfaction as Yunho jumps a little.
So the big bad geondal is nervous. Good. He should be. Because San has the type of power over Mingi that can’t be swayed by guns or money or glamour. He spreads his arms to encompass the grim little kitchen.
“So, you’re inside. Now what?” He slurps his coffee when Yunho hesitates. “Spit it out, I’m a busy man.”
Yunho’s eyes sharpen at his tone and it makes San’s blood sing. “Yes, I can see that.”
The twat tilts his face to the side just as his usually elegant and light-footed boyfriend stumbles over a bag in the hallway with a low curse before he slips out to give them some privacy. Despite himself, San flushes at the reminder of what he and Wooyoung were doing not three minutes ago. It irks him.
“Well, then I’m sure you understand speed is of the essence,” San says with a smile that’s all teeth and no joy. “Chop, chop.”
Yunho holds his gaze steadily for another beat, before relenting with a small huff. He folds his hands together on the breakfast bar.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he says, voice tinged with begrudging admiration and something that’s harder to decode. Relief?
San keeps his face blank with effort, but the gnawing in his stomach is getting more insistent. He isn’t afraid of Yunho. He knows he won’t be harmed, whatever the outcome of their chat. He’s been desperate to cling to his anger and avoid facing the much more nuanced reality underneath. But no matter what nasty shit Sannie has been telling himself, it’s clear as fucking day Yunho cares deeply for Mingi. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.
His stomach twists painfully. If he wants a chance at fixing things with Mingi, he has to get himself unstuck from this comfortable, but dead-end place.
“What’s this about?” San says on a sigh.
“Mingi.”
Try as he might, Yunho can’t quite keep the emotion off his face as he says his best friend’s name. It’s a mix of fondness, exasperation, guilt and something deep and uncontrolled.
“He’s told me about his past, what happened to him and about you. I’m–” Yunho hesitates for a moment, clearly not used to opening up in any way. “I’m grateful you’re there to protect him,” there’s another pause before he adds wryly, “even if it’s from me.”
San holds his breath. None of this is going like he thought it would. In the many, many confrontations with Yunho in his head, there’s always yelling, accusations, posturing, jealousy, maybe even a physical scuffle. But whatever is happening here is so unexpected he feels unbalanced. He doesn’t want to feel anything other than contempt for this guy.
“Does he need protection from you?”
“Mingi is very capable of handling himself. I don’t think anyone is more proficient at breaking my balls.”
“Really?” San hisses. “Because I’d love to put that to the test.”
Yunho smiles, but it’s a sharp and humourless thing. For a moment they square up to each other, neither willing to give an inch. Instigating a petty argument isn’t nearly as satisfying as he hoped it would be, though. San looks away first.
“If you really cared about Mingi, you would make sure he’s never put in a situation where he has to “handle himself” in the first place,” he grits out. He knows he’s not being fair, but they are talking about his brother’s life here. He doesn’t give a fuck about what’s fair.
The geondal’s mouth twitches in irritation, something dark and frightening flashes across his face, before he regains control.
“I wouldn’t choose this life for him either, but it isn’t up to me,” Yunho says, his voice so tight it’s a miracle his jaw doesn’t snap clean off.
It’s another unwelcome moment of kinship with Yunho. San knows all too well how difficult it is to get Mingi to do anything he doesn’t want to, or get him to walk away from something he does want.
San stays silent. He’s on such unfamiliar ground he doesn’t know which way to turn anymore. Part of him is still so angry at how things turned out, but he also misses Mingi, so badly. He may not understand some of the decisions he’s made, but he wants to trust his oldest friend. He wavers, until Yunho speaks again.
“You’re the most important person in his life, San. This rift, it’s hurting him,” his voice trembles ever so slightly. “I can’t have that.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
If Yunho thinks he can come in here and lecture San about what’s best for Mingi, he’s got another thing coming. The rage is still close enough to the surface to reach for easily.
“This life, being with you, that’s what’s going to get him hurt,” San’s lip curls back over his teeth. “And I can’t have that.”
Yunho looks at him, geondal mask snapped back into place. His aura is intimidating, but San isn’t fooled. He’s afraid, so much so that San can almost taste it in the air. There’s a chink in the armour and he lunges for it.
“All the money in the world is never going to replace his family,” he says mercilessly. “Who’s going to pick up the pieces after you’re done, hmm?”
There’s a very twisted satisfaction in watching the other man flinch and avert his gaze at his words.
“You’re not good enough for him, Yunho.”
Yunho hides it well, but San knows he landed a critical hit. Instead of gratified, he feels disgusted with himself. This is not who he is. His father would be so disappointed.
“I know,” Yunho says after a moment. “It’s why he needs you.”
San feels like he’s been hit by a bus. It dawns on him that Yunho didn’t come here to win him over or buy him off or force his hand. He came to remind him that for all their differences, Mingi is their common ground.
“Just leave, please,” he says around the bile at the back of his throat.
There’s a tense moment where Yunho’s body braces, hands curling into fists, before he closes his eyes and nods. San warily watches him stand and smooth down his suit.
When he raises his gaze, there’s something so raw in it San’s own breath hitches.
“Don’t make him choose, San,” Yunho’s voice is low and husky.
He has to swallow down his own fear, shaped like a little wedge of doubt about whether he would come out on top.
“Because he’ll choose you?”
“No.” Yunho takes a shaky inhale. “Because I would give him up.”
All the fight whooshes out of San all at once. It’s so unexpected that he’s left reeling. He can feel his chest heaving, but it’s like no air is coming in. But Yunho isn’t finished. His next words are like little shards of ice lodging in his chest.
“And I’m afraid he’d never forgive you.”
Yunho turns and walks down the hallway, leaving a stricken San in the kitchen. He’s so rooted to the spot, only the heavy click of their shitty front lock is enough to shake him from his stupor.
“You love him,” he rasps, loud enough to carry through the small flat to Yunho, making him pause with the door cracked open. It’s not a question and Yunho doesn’t answer.
The tension in his shoulders and the pink tinge to his ears betray him anyway.
San feels like he’s in the eye of a storm, with everything around him whirling in chaos. Ironically, the only thing to cling to is Yunho himself. Braced to break his own heart so as to break Mingi’s a little less.
The geondal stays frozen with his back turned, as if wrestling with himself about whether to leave without another word. San holds very still.
“I know I brought him into this, but I swear on my mother that I will keep him safe and happy,” Yunho’s eyes glint fiercely as he looks back at San over his shoulder before slipping out into the hallway.
The door shuts with a soft thud that echoes around the flat.
The sound reverberates through his chest, ricocheting off his ribs and lodging at the base of his throat. San has never felt like more of a villain in his life. Full kdrama evil patriarch keeping star-crossed lovers apart for selfish reasons.
He knows, he knows, that’s not how it is. But it’s not not like that either.
None of what Yunho said was reassuring in any way, yet the worry that’s been eating him alive these past few weeks has faded to a low murmur. He may not trust Yunho as a person, but he trusts his love for Mingi. Try as he might, he can’t help but feel connected to the mafioso, united in Mingi.
When he reaches for his anger, he finds much of the heat is gone. The red haze that clouded his vision has evaporated and he’s left to stare at the scorched earth in its wake. Everything is a such a fucking mess.
At least he has some answers, even if it’s not what he wanted to hear.
***
Hongjoong should be asleep.
The gala was a major success, even if making it happen shaved like 17 years off his life. Everything went smoother than expected if he’s honest. He only had to make one potential scandal go away when a waiter found a young upstart actor sucking the Minister of the Interior off in a supply closet. Nothing a wad of bills and a threat of bodily harm couldn’t fix.
And then there was the “mixup” with the Governor of Gyonggi province’s starter. The man would never know, but Hongjoong probably saved his life when he found his dish laced with oyster sauce. He is deathly allergic to shellfish.
Hongjoong doesn’t particularly care whether the man lives or dies, but he’d rather not have one of South Korea’s most powerful and corrupt politicians croak at a party hosted by the Chois. Not a great look, that.
Plus, he needs the guy to sign off on their license to operate, both the club and Jongho’s hedge fund ambitions. He may be a greedy, sleazy cunt, but at least he is easy to control. He strongly suspects his most recent ex-wife is the one trying to poison him, with good reason he reckons, but he needs him where he is for the time being.
Hongjoong also had his hands full keeping up a steady supply of luxurious booze and beautiful people for Choi Senior, while making sure only the right ones made it into his field of vision. The amount of nobodies he’d intercepted before they could bother, bore or annoy arguably the country’s most powerful mafioso was staggering. People are fucking stupid.
In other words, he didn’t even have time to take a piss, let alone steal a kiss or two from Seonghwa, even though he looked fucking ethereal in all white with a floaty open blouse under a tight waistcoat and a wispy half skirt over crisp trousers. Like an angel out of his most forbidden wet dream.
Cue the worst case of blue balls he’s ever had, despite Seonghwa making him jizz his pants like a fucking teenager earlier that day. It’s not his fault man, he was wearing a baby tee. His whole ass belly button was on show. The tease.
Most of the shmoozing was left to Seonghwa. His evening had been spent buttering up bankers, judges and a financial regulator. Whenever Hongjoong had a moment to look for his glossy black hair, he found him surrounded by people looking dazed and varying degrees of aroused.
Damn, does he look like that around Seonghwa? Cool, great. Fabulous.
No wonder Mingi and Wooyoung make fun of him non-stop.
Some were less than polite, though. Plenty of the stares were downright lecherous. And if the rictus grin plastered on Hwa’s beautiful face by the end is anything to go by, he had to fend off his fair share of wandering hands.
Hongjoong knows that look. He’s sported it himself plenty of times, when the ladies at his old house parties got a little too tipsy and a lot too handsy.
There wasn’t much he could do at the time. Never mind that Seonghwa would kick him in the nuts if he tried to ride in like a knight in shining armour, he simply couldn’t afford to piss off the wrong person.
At the end of the night, Hongjoong was swept up in several brief, but key meetings. By the time he was done, neither he nor Seonghwa had been in a state to do anything beyond take their clothes off, brush their teeth and fall asleep.
Yet here he is, barely three hours later. Wide awake, heart thundering. He feels too tired to sleep.
It’s hard to get comfortable. His thoughts are racing and body is weirdly braced, his muscles refusing to relax.
He focuses on his breathing to calm his rampant nerves and tries not to fidget too much on account of the warm body curled around his. If Seonghwa’s face is ridiculous during the day, graceful and pretty and so expressive, he’s downright lethal asleep. All the sharper lines of his face are soft and almost out of focus. The little crease between his brows is smooth and relaxed. Tufts of jet black hair still crinkly with product have escaped from the little ponytail he was too tired to loosen before bed. Tiny puffs of breath fall across those plush lips, slack and open. It’s obscene in all its innocence.
But today, his weight isn’t soothing so much as suffocating.
Seonghwa looks as exhausted as Hongjoong feels. They’ve had so little time to themselves the last few weeks. Chief Choi’s visit has hurled a lot of important people into their orbit. It’s an opportunity they shouldn’t pass up, but licking an endless reel of entitled, puckered up assholes, and not in the fun way, is fucking tedious.
Never mind the stress of keeping the gist of their plans from the old sly fox.
If Hongjoong’s not going to get any rest, he should get a head start on what will no doubt be a hectic day. But he also can’t make himself move.
His mind can’t stop whirring, trying to keep track of all the moving parts, paranoid that there’s some tiny crack in the foundation that’s going to topple everything later on. He runs a tight ship, he tries to cover every angle and stay three steps ahead of everybody else.
Still, he’s been caught out before. And now, he has so much more to lose.
Hongjoong turns his head to look at his lover, drooling blissfully unaware on his shoulder. His chest clenches painfully.
Suddenly, it’s like a million fire ants are crawling under his skin. He’s hot and itchy and his heart trips over a couple of beats, before thrashing in his ribcage so violently it’s difficult to breathe. He suppresses the urge to shove Hwa off and stick his face out of the nearest window.
Instead, he slowly and carefully extricates himself, taking care not to jostle his sleeping lover.
He feels like a total piece of shit as he slips out into the hallway. Seonghwa deserves so much better than this cowardly bullshit, but he needs some time to gather himself away from everyone and everything. Hongjoong shoves everything he needs into a gym bag before scurrying out of his flat and to the dark and quiet Treasure Club to have a fucking mental breakdown in peace.
It takes another hour for his erratic heart rate to settle and for his breaths to stop hitching randomly, but eventually the sharp edge of panic recedes. He’s fine. Nothing bad has happened. He just has to push through and then things will go back to normal. Yes.
To distract himself, he dives headfirst into work. He’s never been more grateful to have an enormous shitpile of admin and paperwork to get through. The boring, monotonous work takes the cacophony in his head down to a low buzz.
He sends Seonghwa his location just in case he wakes up early, but he hasn’t quite put himself back together again well enough to manage an actual message.
So it’s a real punch to the throat when not three minutes later, he hears someone stomping up the stairs. It’s much too quick for it to be Hwa, so someone must have broken into the Club. While he doesn’t think anyone wants him dead, the list of people who’d like to break at least a few of his bones is much longer. He forces his game face on despite his jackhammering heart and reaches for the bottom right drawer of his desk.
He snatches his hand back when the door bangs open and in strides Seonghwa, practically glowing with incandescent rage. He pins Hongjoong with a murderous glare while his long legs eat up the distance between them, moving with such terrifying precision and efficiency it’s very clear Hongjoong has Fucked Up. He puts his phone in the middle of the desk.
“What is this?”
Seonghwa doesn’t raise his voice, but he enunciates the words so sharply they slice through the air and slap Hongjoong in the face. All he can do is stare, mouth slightly open, at their text thread open on Seonghwa’s phone. The little pinned location blinks at him mockingly, like morse code for you asshat.
He must take too long to scrape together the brain cells stuck to his skull like dumbass goo because Seonghwa clacks his tongue in irritation.
In all of their snippy, flirty battles, he has never seen Seonghwa actually angry before. He’s been annoyed and tetchy before, downright petty even, but never fuming like this. He looks like one of the characters he adopts on stage. It’s a terrifying beauty to behold.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
A bolt of pure adrenaline shoots through his veins, leaving a trail of fire as it goes. The anxiety he thought he had successfully dispatched surges back to the surface and Hongjoong scrambles to cover it with anger of his own. It’s a much safer emotion than panic.
“Excuse me?”
Seonghwa bares his teeth at his testy retort.
“Am I just another cheap whore you can pimp out whenever it suits?” Every syllable is dipped in ice and Hongjoong rears back like he’s actually been slapped. But Seonghwa is relentless, counting accusations on trembling fingers.
“I let myself be groped and leered at for hours yesterday, and I just smiled, as I tickled high and mighty balls like a good little boy. I waited for you like some dutiful wife, while you disappeared for mysterious meetings you tell me nothing about. And then we get home and you barely say two words to me and I’m still waiting patiently like an idiot thinking you’ll let me in, only to wake up alone to a cold and empty bed. But you must have gotten what you wanted from me,” he spits venomously.
“And then you have the audacity to summon me like I’m nothing but one of your toys to play with when you feel like it? Were you hoping for a quick fuck before you start your day? Or is there another rich cock for me to suck?”
Seonghwa’s hands are curled into fists so tightly his shoulders shake with it. His chest heaves like he’s just run a marathon and he’s looking at Hongjoong, pleading for him to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s not being taken for a ride. It’s heart-wrenching.
Hongjoong’s mouth opens and closes like a fish a few times as his usually silver tongue fails him utterly. He can only watch as Seonghwa closes his eyes in resignation.
“God, I am so stupid,” one of his hands comes up to rub aggressively at his suspiciously damp eyes and rake through his tangled hair. He follows it up with a bitter chuckle that grates all the way along Hongjoong’s spine.
“Seonghwa,” he forces out, breathy and desperate. Since words still aren’t forthcoming, he jumps up and rounds his desk, but his lover throws an arm out to stop him.
“No, don’t, I can’t–” he takes a shuddery breath. “I can’t do this if it doesn’t mean the same thing to you. Just… just tell me, please.”
He wraps his arms around his own waist and crumples in on himself. Hongjoong has never felt like more of an unworthy asshole in his life. The anguish on his lover’s face makes his racing heart stutter and brings his whirling thoughts to an abrupt halt.
Hongjoong has never been good at opening up to anyone about anything, ever. The mere idea of being vulnerable goes against every single one of his instincts. All but one. He wants to be worthy of Seonghwa and he can’t do that if he clings to his emotionally constipated gremlin ways.
After everything he’s been through, Seonghwa should never feel like he’s being used for someone else’s gain ever again. Knowing his thoughtless actions made his lover doubt his devotion is simply unbearable. Seonghwa is the only person to successfully cut through years of carefully curated cynicism and nonchalance. He can’t afford to be like this anymore.
But of course, what actually comes out of his dumb fucking mouth is less than romantic.
“You scare the shit out of me.”
Great, wonderful, good job. Fucking marriage material right there.
Seonghwa’s beautiful doe eyes go impossibly wide and his lips part in shock. Hongjoong groans in frustration at his chronic inability to talk about his feelings like a normal person.
His heart is in his fucking throat but he forces his clumsy ass tongue to get a grip and push through the awkward, because Seonghwa deserves the truth. He sucks in a deep breath.
“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before and I don’t know how to handle it,” he confesses, swallowing thickly. The urge to look away is overwhelming, but he forces himself to keep his eyes up. He’s been enough of a coward.
“You are not some way to pass the time for me, Seonghwa. This morning, everything just hit me all at once and instead of talking to you about feeling overwhelmed, I ran and I hurt you and made you feel small and I’m so sorry.”
Seonghwa sucks in a sharp breath that hitches in his chest on a soft oh. The fact that this is news to him cracks Hongjoong’s ribcage wide open. He reaches for his lover again and meets no resistance this time. His hands cradle his face and his stomach lurches when Seonghwa leans into the touch.
“You are so precious to me, Hwa,” he says. “Nothing about you is cheap.” That earns him a wet laugh that makes his heart soar. “And I’m terrified of losing you.”
So terrified, in fact, that he bought a gun, stashed in the bottom right drawer of his desk. Now is not the best time to reveal that bit of information, though.
“I wanted to keep you out of it as much as I can, but I know that’s not fair,” he leans their foreheads together.
Seonghwa curls his own hands around Hongjoong’s, still bracketing his face. “You won’t lose me,” he says, with a lingering edge of defiance. “We’re in this together, we’re a team.”
Hongjoong nods. He pulls back a couple of inches to look at his lover’s face. The righteous anger burning in his eyes earlier has been replaced with soft wonder. For perhaps the first time in his tumultuous life, Hongjoong finds himself defenseless against the tidal wave of emotion that sweeps through him. What’s worse, he doesn’t want to defend himself against it.
“I know that I’m the stupid one here. You make me stupid and I love it,” he hums. He takes a fortifying breath. The fire ants are back, but in his stomach this time. “I love you.”
Seonghwa huffs out a breath like he’s been punched in the gut. His plush lips move, but no sound comes out. While it’s very satisfying, for once, to not be the one lost for words, the silence after blurting his feelings is unnerving.
But Seonghwa hasn’t run for the hills yet, so he’ll take that as a win.
“Fuck,” Seonghwa breathes finally after a few beats, before surging forward and crashing his lips against Hongjoong’s. He stumbles back with the force of the kiss until his ass hits his desk, his surprised yelp swallowed greedily.
Hongjoong recovers quickly from his shock and melts into Seonghwa, letting himself be pressed back into the wood. He gasps into his lover’s mouth when he grinds forward, hands scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders.
Eventually, Seonghwa pulls back minutely so they can suck in some much needed oxygen. His lips are swollen and his eyes dark as onyx, glinting with something unhinged and deliciously dangerous. Hongjoong fails to bite back a keening moan when he attacks his neck. Seonghwa’s wet lips and hot breath leave a scorching trail along his skin.
His legs drop open in invitation, but instead, Seonghwa steps back. He grabs Hongjoong’s shoulders and twists him around so he faces the desk and immediately cages him in again. He leans forward, lips against the shell of Hongjoong’s ear.
“Say it again.”
It’s barely more than a possessive growl and Hongjoong’s body fucking quivers in response. His brain cells refuse to rally for a few seconds and Seonghwa rolls his hips forward languidly, pressing the searing heat of his hardening cock along the back on Hongjoong’s thigh. His weight drops forward and he has to plant his sweaty palms on the desk table to avoid flopping onto it. It lines his ass up perfectly with Seonghwa’s hips and his mouth goes slack.
“Again.”
“I l-love you,” he punches each word out of his chest.
Seonghwa snakes his hands under his shirt and scrapes his blunt nails down his chest to his waistband.
“I love you too, tiger,” he purrs in Hongjoong’s ear as he undoes his fly and shoves his jeans out of the way to wrap those long fingers around his throbbing dick. “And you will never take me for granted again,” he says, twisting his wrist meanly.
Hongjoong’s eyes roll up behind his closed lids and his knees turn to jelly. The only thing holding him up is the desk and the searing line of Seonghwa’s body. He moans and nods fervently.
“Good boy,” Seonghwa murmurs before dropping to his knees. Without the support at his back, Hongjoong sags forward through his elbows, shivering as Seonghwa’s hot breath fans over his ass. Two thumbs part his cheeks and Hongjoong makes a strangled noise when an impossibly long tongue unceremoniously breaches his rim.
It’s so hot and so wet and so much that he tries to squirm away, but Seonghwa has an iron grip on his hips. The noise that escapes his throat is perilously close to a sob. Seonghwa only backs away long enough to shush him before carrying on without mercy. All Hongjoong can do is surrender and take it.
It’s the best punishment of his life.